


99 Red Balloons

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Clexa Week 2020, F/F, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22987090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: 99 dreams I have hadIn every one a red balloonIt's all over and I'm standin' prettyIn the dust that was a cityIf I could find a souvenirJust to prove the world was hereAnd here it is, a red balloonI think of you and let it go-- 99 Red Balloons, by NENAThe world as they know it has ended.  Bombs rained down from the sky, and after a brief moment of connection Clarke and Lexa both find themselves prisoners: Lexa of an underground bunker where she has become the unlikely leader of a group of survivors, and Clarke of the hospital where her mother works, completely untouched by the destruction.  Between them stands a wall that didn't exist before; a wall that exists to keep something in... or out.  But what?When Lexa finally surfaces on the 99th day, she discovers that there's nothing left of the city she used to call home... or is there?Every morning Clarke goes to the roof of the hospital to watch the sun rise.  On the 100th day, she sees something on the other side of the wall, where they have been told nothing and no one remains.  Something that might just mean not all hope is lost.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 34
Kudos: 74





	99 Red Balloons

_99 Days AE_

Lexa looked at the words she'd written in the battered notebook she'd once used for math notes. She could have kept using the standard calendar to count time; it hadn't been so long that she'd lost track. She'd kept a careful tally of the days as they'd passed, each 24-hour increment measured by an honest to god hourglass, watched by each of them in turn and upended faithfully each time the sand ran out. But it didn't seem right to keep using the calendar of a world that no longer existed, so she'd decided to start over from one. 

"AE?" Anya had asked, back on day 5 when she'd caught Lexa scribbling in the notebook, and Lexa's hand had jerked to hide the words out of habit, even though there was nothing personal in them. 

Lexa had looked up at her, nodded. "After Everything," she'd said. 

Anya had considered. "Yeah, I guess that fits." And then she'd moved on, to check on something or someone because confinement had turned her into a shark – if she stopped moving, she'd die. She slept a few hours a night – or day, it was impossible to know down here – but the rest of the time was spent on endless checks of their supplies and their well-being, and on planning. 

On good days, Lexa helped her. On bad days, she didn't see the point. On bad days, she couldn't help thinking that AE could also stand for After the End. 

Because there was no coming back from this, was there? They'd heard the city fall, crumbling down around and on top of them. They hadn't even known for a while if they would be able to get out of the bunker Anya and some of the others had found. What if a building had collapsed over them, sealing them in so their shelter from the storm became their tomb? 

They'd waited thirty-three days. Thirty-three days and they hadn't heard any sound, any signs of life, since day seven. The earth no longer shook at intervals with what they had to assume were bombs, wiping humanity and everything they'd built from the face of the planet. Thirty-three days before people started to get restless in a way that threatened to drive all of them crazy, so Anya had decided a small group would go to the surface to see what was left and to scavenge for supplies.

She'd decided she would lead them.

Lexa had tried to talk her out of it, told her they needed her here, because who else was going to keep everyone in line? Who else would they listen to when they stopped thinking with their heads and started thinking with their stomachs, railing against the rationing Anya had ordered from day one? 

"You," Anya had said. "They'll listen to you." She'd pulled Lexa into her, a brief, crushing embrace, and then disappeared up the ladder, shoving at the hatch until it gave, bursting outward with a resounding clang that had frozen them all in place, the only sound the soft patter of grit and debris hitting the floor as it cascaded down from above. 

Anya's head disappeared through the hole, and then the rest of her, and she was gone. The rest of her team followed, and then the hatch had banged shut again, sealing them in with a sound so final Lexa had felt it in her core.

She'd started counting the minutes, then the hours, then the days. 

Waiting. Always waiting.

Anya hadn't returned. None of them had. 

_It doesn't mean they're dead,_ Lexa had written on day 36. _But it doesn't not mean that either._

When others had wanted to go look for them, to find them and bring them back, Lexa had been tempted. To let them. To go with them. But she'd said no, and they'd listened. They'd obeyed. Just like Anya said they would. Even though she was the youngest person in the bunker. Even though she hadn't even had the chance to finish high school. They listened to her because Anya had listened to her, until her restlessness had gotten the better of her.

She'd made them wait another 33 days. Another 33 days of tense silence, of checking and rechecking and turning the hour glass over and over and over again, of hoping maybe, maybe today would be the day Anya – and her team, but Lexa barely remembered their names – came back with supplies, or to tell them it was safe to come out, like the Good Witch of the North summoning the Munchkins out of their homes in Oz. 

And after that, another 33 days, because the second group hadn't come back either, and their supplies were dangerously low, and although she tried to hide it, one of the women was getting sick and they had no medicine that could help her. 

_99 Days AE,_ Lexa wrote. _We're going to the surface. All of us. Better a quick death at the hands of whatever's out there than a slow death from starvation and boredom._

She slipped her pencil into the spiral of her notebook and tucked it into her bag, cinching it shut and snapping the flap over the opening. "Okay," she said. "Let's go."

* * *

Lexa blinked, squinting against the glare of the sun as she climbed up and out into what was left of the world. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it hadn't been a brilliant blue sky and the warmth of the sun on her skin. 

_I guess 99 days is long enough for the dust to settle,_ she thought, stepping off to the side to let the next person finish their ascent. She kept her eyes on the sky for a long time, until she could hear the scuffle and mutter of the others as they waited for her to tell them what to do. 

She made herself look down, and around, and finally into their faces, as shattered and shell-shocked as her own as they took in the destruction. 

At first glance, there was nothing left. Just piles of rubble, chunks of concrete with rusted rebar ribbing poking out, insufficient to the task of keeping buildings whole under the rain of bombs that had fallen for days on end. As her eyes made a second pass, it seemed to only confirm her first impression: there was _nothing_ left. 

Her heart lodged itself in her throat, and she had to swallow twice, three times to clear it. "This way," she said, hoping they didn't hear the rasp and choke surrounding the words. She pulled a bandana up over her face to protect her from the dust that kicked up with every step, caking her boots and settling into every seam and crease of her pants and jacket. 

It was hard to tell how far they walked, because so many roads had been obliterated or obscured by the buildings that had fallen into them, and street signs were few and far between, and most of them were lying on the ground with no way to know if they'd fallen where they'd once stood or been blasted meters or miles from their original location. Lexa hadn't known this area of the city well enough to make a guess, and she didn't ask her companions, who straggled in a line behind her, silently taking it all in. 

Lexa's eyes blurred and she told herself it was the dust making her eyes water and tear, but the damp edge of her bandana over her cheeks told a different story. She was crying – had been for some time now – but it finally got to the point where she had to stop because she could no longer see where she was going. She crouched and swung her bag around to the front, buying herself time to blot her eyes while she made a show of fishing her canteen from her bag, taking just a few small sips before sealing it again. 

She felt a hand on her back and she looked up, forcing a smile at the giant of a man who loomed over her. _Gustus,_ she thought, her dry, cracked lips forming the name, but no sound came out. She stood again, looked around to get her bearings, and a laugh bubbled up and escaped before she could swallow it. 

_Of course,_ she thought. _Of course I would end up here._

Memory rose up along with a fresh wave of tears.

* * *

"It's such a waste," Clarke said, annoyance in her voice that Lexa was sure was at least 50% feigned. "And bad for the environment."

Lexa didn't disagree. "It's what they want," she said. "We took a vote. The people have spoken."

Clarke wrinkled her nose. "The people are idiots."

"Frequently," Lexa said. "Nevertheless."

Clarke sighed. " _Fine,_ " she said. "I just want it on record that I am doing this under duress."

"So noted," Lexa said, miming writing something in her palm and finishing with a flourish. 

Clarke snorted. "You're ridiculous," she said. 

"Frequently," Lexa replied, fighting back a smile and trying – and failing – to squash the flutter in her chest as her eyes met Clarke's. Because there was something about the way Clarke looked at her that made her feel seen in a way that she rarely was... and more and more often lately, there was something in it that made Lexa wonder if Clarke could see right through her... and didn't mind the view. That maybe...

"Balloons," Clarke said, snapping Lexa out of her reverie. How long had she been staring? Had Clarke noticed? Had she made it awkward? Oh god, she'd made it awkward, hadn't she? "Red balloons."

Lexa opened her mouth to respond only to realize Clarke wasn't talking to her. She was talking to the shopkeeper who must have asked what they were looking for. Lexa hadn't even heard him approach. 

"And a helium tank," Lexa said. 

"I can fill them for you," the shopkeeper said. "It's no trouble. No extra cost, either." He winked, but he wasn't looking at Lexa as he said it. He was looking at Clarke, slightly south of her face, and Lexa felt her entire body flush.

"We'll take a tank," Lexa said, stepping in front of Clarke. "We'd rather do it ourselves."

His eyes snapped up to hers, but he didn't seem embarrassed. If anything, he looked annoyed. "Sure," he said. "It'll just be a minute."

"You didn't have to do that," Clarke said when he was gone. "I can take care of myself."

"He was staring at your—"

"Balloons?" Clarke finished for her, her eyebrows going up and her lips twitching. "Yes, I'm aware. I'm also used to it."

"You shouldn't be!" Lexa said. "You shouldn't have to—" 

She was stopped by Clarke's fingers wrapping around hers and squeezing. "I know," she said. "Sometimes it's just not worth the fight. Thanks for defending my honor, though."

Lexa deflated. When she said it like that, it made Lexa feel ridiculous, like she was as bad as the lecherous men who ogled Clarke's... assets because she thought Clarke needed someone to fight her battles for her. 

"Hey," Clarke said, tugging on her hand as she turned away. "Lexa." Lexa looked back at her, and felt her knees go a little wobbly at Clarke's smile. "I really—"

But she didn't get to find out what Clarke really, because the shopkeeper came back with the balloons and the tank, shoving them across the counter at them and snatching the cash from Lexa's hand when she held it out. She probably imagined that his hands felt slimy when he returned her change, but she surreptitiously scrubbed her palm against her leg as they turned to leave. 

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Clarke asked. 

"Bright and early," Lexa agreed. 

Clarke smiled again, and waved, and Lexa scrambled to think of some excuse, some reason they couldn't part ways just yet, but she came up blank, and then Clarke was gone, disappeared around a corner and heading who knew where. Home, maybe, or maybe to a friend's... _Or a boyfriend's,_ a little voice in the back of her mind helpfully supplied, and she wished she could reach into her brain and strangle it. 

_She doesn't have a boyfriend,_ she told it. _If she did, I would know._

Probably. 

Maybe.

She told herself it didn't matter. She lugged the helium tank home and retreated to her room to finish her homework... which would have been a perfect excuse to stay together, she realized too late, and smacked her forehead with her palm. Maybe next time...

They met the next morning in the gym, which they were responsible for decorating for the Heart Health Dance-a-thon happening that afternoon. They'd even been trusted with keys to let themselves in, because they had to be there before dawn to be finished before school started. It didn't matter how good a cause it was; they weren't allowed to miss classes for anything extracurricular. 

They didn't say much as they filled the balloons, Clarke manning the helium tank and Lexa knotting them with dexterous fingers and attaching ribbons to tie them down. Every once in a while there was a sound from outside, a thud or a bang, but Lexa didn't think much of it. They were in a city, or on the edges of one, surrounded by people and activity, and some of the noise that came with it was bound to bleed through. But it got harder and harder to ignore, and finally she twisted the strings of the balloons around her fist and got up. "I'm just going to—" she started, but Clarke had risen with her and followed her without another word.

They stepped out into the early dawn light... only to watch it disappear behind a cloud of smoke and ash, followed a second later by a roar of sound. Something had exploded. Something—

"Run," Clarke said, her voice distant and too calm. "Get somewhere safe. Underground if you can."

Lexa looked at her, bewildered. "What are you—"

"Please," Clarke said, her voice breaking. 

Lexa looked at her, and all the weight of every confusing glance they'd ever shared seemed to settle onto their shoulders, pushing them together, into each other's arms, and their lips met for a slow, glorious second, and then the earth shattered again, closer this time, and yanked them apart. 

"Go," Clarke said. "I'll find you." 

Lexa tried to grab her sleeve, to hold on for just a second longer, and in doing so accidentally let go of the balloons. She watched them disappear into the sky, which was filling with dust that stung her eyes. When she looked back, Clarke was gone.

* * *

Of all the buildings to escape annihilation, it was a random toy shop on a random street corner that remained standing. Or half-standing, with its roof collapsed in to bury its contents, but the sign was still there, soot-streaked but visible. 

"I know where we are," Lexa said, more to herself than to the others, but they heard anyway in the absence of any sound. There were no planes flying over, no cars honking, no birds chirping... not even the hum of electricity that you never noticed until it wasn't there anymore.

"What good does that do?" someone asked. 

"We all know where we are," another muttered. "We're in hell."

Someone else – Gustus, she thought – hushed them, and she could feel the weight of their collective gaze boring into her back, again waiting for her instruction. But she had no directions to give, because whoever had spoken first was right: knowing where they were did them no good. She needed to know where they were going, where they might find food and shelter and medical supplies and everything else necessary to sustain life. 

But she didn't have an answer. She didn't have any answers, and part of her resented them for looking to her for them in the first place. She was just a kid, for fuck's sake. It didn't matter that Anya had listened to her, had trusted her, had maybe even cared about her. It didn't matter, because Anya was gone. 

_Everyone_ was gone. 

Because it had been 99 days and they'd been walking for blocks and they hadn't seen another living soul.

They hadn't seen any bodies, either, and maybe that was stranger, because they couldn't _all_ be buried under the rubble, could they? Buildings didn't fall and create perfect encapsulated graves for people. There should be blood, and –

Lexa gagged, swallowing bile as her mind conjured graphic images of what they could – should – be seeing and weren't. 

_Just be grateful,_ she thought. _Just count your blessings._

She suppressed a bitter laugh. Count her blessings? It would be a very short list, starting and ending with not being surrounded by human carnage. 

_You're alive,_ her conscience pricked. _That's a blessing._

Was it, though? Was it really a blessing to be one of the last handful of humans on earth? Because it couldn't just be here, could it? It couldn't only be this city, _her_ city, that had been wiped off the map. If it was, people from other places, intact places, would be here searching for survivors, digging through the wreckage, starting to rebuild. It was what humans did. Not always – maybe not even most of the time – but when disaster struck, it pulled people together. It brought out the best of humanity. So if there was anything – anyone – left, they would be here helping. 

No one was coming. 

Just like Clarke hadn't come, even though she'd said she would. 

_I'll find you,_ she'd said, but she hadn't, and Lexa had spent the last 99 days doing everything in her power to not think about what that meant. 

When they'd seen the bombs streaking through the dawn sky, Clarke hadn't seemed surprised. She'd told Lexa to run, to get underground, like she'd expected this to happen, maybe even been prepared for it, but how? 

How could she have known? And why had she left Lexa behind to fend for herself if she knew what was coming? If Clarke wanted her to be safe, why hadn't she taken her to wherever she'd gone? 

If she'd offered, would Lexa have gone? If Clarke had held out a hand and told her, 'Come with me if you want to live,' would she have done it? Or would she have braved the chaos of the transit system to get home, to find Anya and warn her, to make sure they both had a chance of surviving whatever was coming? 

She pressed her lips together, licking them to try to restore a trace of moisture to her mouth. 

The truth was she didn't know. She didn't know, and she refused to feel guilty about it now because Anya hadn't thought twice about leaving her behind, had she? 

She shrugged off the thought, stuffed down the memories, and shouldered her pack again, picking a direction at random because with no idea how vast the area of destruction was, one was just as good as another. 

She walked until her feet ached, and her lungs felt scraped raw from sucking air through dust-clogged material, acutely aware of the sun and the change in the slant of its rays as it reached its zenith and began its descent, and they still hadn't found anything. She thought about turning around, going back to the bunker where at least they had beds to sleep in, but they carried what remained of their supplies on their backs, and it would be a waste of time and energy to go back to a place that they knew wouldn't be of any help.

She stumbled to a halt for the second time that day, this time tearing into a protein bar that had the consistency and flavor of peanut butter sawdust, and another few sips from her canteen. She sank down against a wall, her knees pulled up to her chest...

... and realized that the wall was perfectly smooth, not a single mark on it. As if it hadn't been touched by whatever had happened to the rest of the city. As if it had been constructed after the bombs had stopped falling. 

She turned and pressed her hand to it, then took a few steps back, looking up and down and side to side, trying to gauge how far it stretched, but it extended past the horizon on either side, and was too tall to see over and too smooth to climb, and—

"This wasn't here before," she said. "This didn't exist."

"So?"

"So someone built it. So someone else is out here," Lexa said, her heart beating hard in her chest. "Someone else is alive."

"Why build a wall, though?" they asked. "Why not build, oh, I dunno, somewhere for people to live?"

"Maybe they are," Lexa said. "On the other side." 

"But why build it at all?" they demanded. "What are they trying to keep in?"

"Or what are they trying to keep _out_?"

The words sent a shiver down Lexa's spine, but she didn't let it completely burst the bubble of hope that had formed in her chest. "We have to find out," she said. "We have to know." She took off, not caring if they followed, looking for a way in, but she found no doors, no windows, no way of seeing what was on the other side. Finally she looked at Gustus, sizing him up against the wall. 

"I need you to lift me," she said. "I might be able to reach the top if—"

"No," he said. "It's too dangerous." 

"We have to know," she repeated. " _I_ have to know. Maybe... maybe Anya found a way through and now can't get back to us. Maybe—" He shook his head, looking almost sorry, and she sighed. "Fine," she said, and went back as far as she could before running at the wall, hoping speed would help her get up it, but she had no training in parkour or Ninja Warrior or anything like it, and even with her arms stretched as far as they could go she was nowhere near reaching the upper edge. She tried again, but got no closer, and on her third attempt she nearly ran face first into the wall.

Gustus blocked her path before she could try a fourth time. "You're not going to stop, are you?" he asked.

"Have you met me?" Lexa countered. 

"Unfortunately," he said, heaving a sigh, but she thought she saw the tiniest flicker of a smile peeking out from behind his beard. "Come on then." He went to the wall and braced himself, letting her scale him and boosting her up as high as he could. Her fingers were still a few inches shy of the top, so she took a leap of faith and just barely managed to grab on, grunting as her chest collided with concrete... or whatever the wall was made of, because it didn't actually look or feel like concrete, or stone, or anything else typically used for building.

She hauled herself up and peered over, and nearly came tumbling back down again when she saw that on the other side it was as if nothing had happened. The buildings, the streets, the _people_ were completely untouched, unscathed, and acting as if just a few feet away wasn't a wasteland. 

"Hey!" she yelled. "Hey! Up here!" But no one looked up. 

She finally slid back down when it became clear no one could hear her and relayed what she'd seen. 

"What do we do now?" they asked. 

"It's getting dark," Gustus pointed out. "We should find somewhere to spend the night. Whatever we're going to do can wait 'til morning."

Lexa's mind spun, trying to put all the pieces together and come up with a plan. If the people inside couldn't hear them to know they were out there... 

"Follow me," she said. "I have an idea."

* * *

Clarke sat on the hospital roof as dawn broke over the horizon... or over the top of the wall that had become the horizon that marked the boundaries of their brave new world... and watched the sky streak with light, just like it did every morning, as if nothing had changed, and she guessed for the sun it hadn't. She let her eyes go out of focus, blurring what should have been a beautiful sight, because she didn't deserve to see it. She didn't deserve beauty, or the promise of a new day, or anything. Not after she'd abandoned—

Her eyes snapped back into focus, zeroing in on something that didn't belong. 

A single red balloon floating through the summer sky.

For the first time in 100 days, hope flared in her chest. She got up and ran.


End file.
